


An old green book

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:36:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2663873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As children, Elros and Elrond conspire to make Maglor happy again with a little help from Maedhros, who is not nearly as frightening as he seems. </p><p>Now Elrond looks back on those times and the people he has lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An old green book

They had both noticed the change in Maglor of late.

“He’s not been writing any new music” said Elrond, fretfully. “You know how he gets so uneasy sometimes.”

Elros did know. “Maybe he has writer’s block. Composer’s block…? Something like that.”

“I think it’s because he’s worried. Heartsick.”

“Heartsick?”

“He misses his family” said Elrond. “Maedhros does too, but he doesn’t let it show as much.”

“We are their only family now” said Elros, realising the truth of it even as the words came to his mouth. “I wish there was something we could do to help.”

Elrond gave him a long look. “Perhaps there is…”

———-

“Is the coast clear?”

Elrond took a long look down the corridor. “I think so. Come on, let’s go!”

They ran up the stairs on silent feet, to the end of the hall where Maglor’s study stood empty, the door slightly ajar.

“Where’s the book?” asked Elros, looking around.

“On the desk” said Elrond, restraining himself from running his fingers across the strings of the small lyre that lay on the side table, or the tall harp that stood under its cover in the corner. “Quickly!”

They opened the plain green linen-bound book, turning past pages and pages of music spilling over with inkblots and hastily scrawled marginalia, scored through by crossings out, loose sheets tucked in here and there, until they found a blank page.

“What are we going to - ”

“ _Elros!_ ” hissed Elrond, seizing his brother’s arm. “Someone’s coming!”

They both fell silent, frozen and listening. Sure enough, they could hear the sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway.

“Where can we go? Can we hide under the desk?”

“I think it’s too late for - ”

“What are you two doing in here?” The door had creaked open, and there was Maedhros, towering over them.

“I… I’m sorry” choked out Elros, plucking up his courage and stepping defensively in front of Elrond, who had quailed a little at the sight of Maedhros’ scarred, frowning face, by force of habit. “We were just…” he faltered, trying to think of something to say. “We were…”

Then Maedhros’ face broke into a wan smile, and Elros relaxed a little. “The two of you are always somewhere you shouldn’t be, it seems. Still, it’s to be expected, I suppose.” He laughed wryly. “No need to look so terrified, I’m not going to eat you.”

Elros folded his arms defiantly, saying nothing.

Maedhros sighed. “What  _were_  you doing in here, anyway? My brother is downstairs.”

“We were just…” began Elrond, looking guiltily at the book on the table. He gritted his teeth and stood forward, and hesitantly, haltingly, he told Maedhros of their plan.

When he had finished, he peered apprehensively up at Maedhros’ face. To his relief he saw a small smile spreading there. “My brother has been slipping towards his own sort of melancholy again lately” Maedhros mused. “May I ask if I may be allowed in on your plan?”

For a moment, Elros was too astonished to speak. “You… what…?”

“Yes” said Elrond, on an impulse. “Yes, of course you may.”

“Excellent” said Maedhros. “I will take upon myself the duty of distracting my brother then. It will make everything much easier.”

———-

Maglor opened the door to his study, rubbing his eyes that itched from lack of sleep.  _He had been dreaming again, the dark dreams where the faces of the ones he had lost loomed pale and bloody out of the dark, as the flames licked about them…_  he sighed, pressing the heels of his hands over his eyes and trying to put the images from his head. He sat down in the chair at the desk, flipping listlessly through one of his manuscript books that lay abandoned on the table.

Writing music usually brought him solace, but for too long his mind had been empty and silent, no little snatches of melody tugging at him, begging to be written down. It had happened before, of course, too many times to count, but it always frightened him just a little.

The pages of the book rustled as he leafed idly through them in the light of the lampstone. He saw his own handwriting, all loops and flourishes but untidy with haste, staves and notes, the inkblots and the places where he had scratched out whole sections in his frustration. He was just about to close the book and get up to leave when something caught his eye. Frowning, he flipped back to the place, the last page on which he had written. The next page was not blank, but was covered in someone else’s hand, spiky and childish; no,  _two_  hands, Elrond’s and Elros’.

He read.

“ _Dear Maglor_ , _we know we are not your little brothers who you miss, but we love you anyway. We miss seeing you more, and hearing you sing. Can you teach me to sing? Elrond is better than me, but I’d like to learn, too, if you’ll teach me. Elrond is looking over my shoulder telling me that this is not what I should be writing here, but I don’t know what else to put. Lots of love, Elros.”_

“ _Dear Maglor, I would have written you a poem but I couldn’t think of one on the spot, and it would never have been as good as yours anyway. Sorry for writing in your book, too. But we wanted you to know that though we never knew our father very well you are the closest thing we had, and we love you even though you are sad right now. Please don’t be sad. Love from Elrond.”_

Maglor felt tears starting suddenly at the corners of his eyes, and realised, to his great surprise, that his mouth had begun to curl into a watery smile. It was then that he noticed the third message, compacted into the very corner where the pages joined the book’s spine, written in Quenya in the small, cramped hand that he recognised so well.

_“Káno. What the children said, essentially. I will admit I was complicit in their plan. Please speak to me when it hurts. I know I was never much good at it myself, but I also know you will surely be better. I love you, little brother. Be well. –M.”_

Maglor pressed his eyes closed for a moment, biting his lip and holding the book close to his chest.

———-

Tentatively, Elrond brushed the dust off the worn green linen cover, blinking a little as it stung his eyes. Motes danced and glimmered in the sunbeams that lanced in through the high windows of the library of Imladris. He opened the book with exquisite care, ancient and delicate as the pages were, looking at the old scribbled notes, the snatches of composition, the faded drawings. There was one page to which the book fell naturally open, and he let it. He knew what he would see, and yet it did not quite prepare him for the words he read, his own and his brother’s and Maedhros’. The words that he had read so many times over in the intervening centuries since Maglor had been lost, so much that he knew them by heart.  _Maedhros, Maglor, Elros…_   _all these people who are lost_ , he thought.  _I’m the only one left._

He traced his own child’s hand, and felt tears roll down his cheeks. Carefully, he closed the book before they could smudge the ink.


End file.
